


Finding His Way Back

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, M/M, Open Marriage, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius failed Draco and me — first by permitting a megalomaniac and his insane followers to take up residence in our home, and again by abandoning us to their tender mercies. I have already forgiven him, but I cannot help him forgive himself. Severus, however, can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding His Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010 for prompt #32 in the Severus/Lucius Romance Fest: After the war, a broken Lucius finds comfort only outside his marriage.
> 
>  **Betas** : Minxie, eeyore9990, and angela_snape

A few Floo calls and a judicious application of owls ensure that my son is safe in the midst of a group of Gryffindors when he gets on the train for his repeated seventh year at Hogwarts. Potter, being a rather curious sort, refuses to consider this as repayment of his life debt.

From the look in Potter's eyes when he greets Draco on Platform 9 and 3/4, I'm reasonably sure I know how he'll ask to be repaid. If I'm right — and I usually am — I no longer need to worry about my son's future or his happiness.

Lucius, however, is another matter altogether. My husband is not himself. With good reason, I'll admit. Between Azkaban and the Dark Lord's humiliating punishments, the only reason he didn't go mad is that he locked himself down and shut out the entire world. He's still like that, excruciatingly polite and distant, utterly lost inside himself.

I am determined to help him find his way back.

o0oOo0o

"Thank you, Zelly," Lucius says as he accepts a glass of Smoky Port from a house-elf. He returns to his book and pays the elf no more mind.

Zelly's ears droop and her shoulders sag. She looks to me, clearly as concerned as I about Lucius's behaviour. Her look is more command than demand. Apparently, even the house-elves expect me to fix this. I afford her a small smile and make the sharp gesture that instructs her to leave and not to punish herself. She bows and pops out.

I release a sigh, but Lucius doesn't seem to notice. He flips the page in his book and sips his drink. His hair is loosely tied back with a purple silk ribbon he picked out of a tangle of ribbons on my dressing table. Once again, he's wearing his oldest, most comfortable dressing gown — the one with the torn lapel and pocket that he will not permit the house-elves to repair, the one that Severus Snape ripped more than a decade ago.

After taking another sip of his port, Lucius places it on the side table without looking up. His free hand, the one not holding his book, toys with the pocket-edge that hangs down from his dressing gown as he reads.

As I watch him, an idea tickles the edge of my mind. I cannot help Lucius directly this time, because I am part of what is destroying him. He failed Draco and me — first by permitting a megalomaniac and his insane followers to take up residence in our home, and again by abandoning us to their tender mercies. Having seen some of the torture that lay behind his abject failure, I have already forgiven him, but I cannot help him forgive himself.

A whisper of a spell marks my place in my book. Then, to see whether my idea has merit, I say, "In his last letter, Draco mentioned that Severus is living in the remains of that hovel he was raised in."

"Hmmm." Lucius affects disinterest, but the twitch of his little finger against the fabric of his dressing gown gives him away.

"I was thinking." I wait until a muscle flexes in his cheek before continuing, "We do owe Severus a debt. Perhaps it would behove us to invite him to stay with us for a while."

His pause is a trifle too long, his grip on the pocket tightens, ripping it a little further, but his voice betrays none of that as he drawls, "As you will."

"I'll have the house-elves prepare an appropriate room, then visit him in the morning to extend our invitation." I rise, book in hand.

He releases his dressing gown to catch my hand as I pass. He brings it to his mouth and kisses it. His lips are warm and soft on my skin. Familiar.

Turning my hand, I twine our fingers, raise them, and brush his knuckles across my cheek.

"Good night, darling." He kisses the back of my hand one last time before releasing it and taking hold of his pocket once again.

A smile in my heart, I bid him goodnight and sweep out.

o0oOo0o

 _He lives here?_ Bella's voice echoes in my mind as I stride through the wretched streets to Severus's home. The air, the streets, and the hovels are grimy. Children splash around in rain puddles that shimmer with vile colours. Women peer suspiciously from behind curtained windows, or glare at me from their front steps.

I do not belong here. We are all aware of that. But I will neither harm nor remove their children, and when they recognise that, the curtains drop back into place and the women give me a short nod and vanish into their homes.

Finally, Spinner's End and its dead mill loom into view. Here, at the centre of the labyrinth I just walked from the canal bank I used as an Apparition point, most of the brick houses are abandoned and uninhabitable, rather than merely dilapidated and barely fit for human habitation. Wrapping my cloak and my magic around myself even tighter, I pick up my pace. The house at the end of the street looks even worse than it did the last time I saw it. Glimmers of magic disguise cracked and broken windows. The remaining curtains quiver with doxies.

Severus's wards recognise me as friend and family, permitting me entrance through the gate that hangs partly off its hinges. Holding my cloak so it hides my wand from inquisitive Muggles, I flick it. The knock is louder than anything I can manage with my bare hands — should I wish to do such a thing — but no one answers.

Twice and then thrice, I repeat the Knocking charm. Still no answer.

My left hand on the doorknob, I cast, " _Alohomora Fortis_." The lock snaps and the door opens, creaking loudly in protest.

Inside, the air is frigid. I don't bother to cast a warming charm; I will not be here long enough for that to matter.

A dim light beckons from the room where I once knelt, panic-stricken and desperate to save my son. When I reach the doorway, it's clear that Severus lives in that room now. The stairwell that once led upstairs is dark. The bookcase that served as a door is no longer there. The sofa is covered with a twisted mound of soiled bedding.

Severus sits in the single chair, silent and watchful. Resentment gleams briefly in his eyes and is shuttered away. The stench is abominable. He and his home are filthy. I've known Severus for decades. I'm aware that he cares little for social niceties, and that he frequently ignores his personal cleanliness when caught up in the fervour of research and discovery. But I've never seen him like this. Not even in the insanity after the Potters' unfortunate demises.

Drawing myself up, allowing my cloak to fall open enough to show my wand, I greet him, "Severus."

"Narcissa." He's polite and calm, but wary. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you barge in without asking first."

"You would not have answered." I gesture at his books and other belongings. "How much of this is worth keeping?"

Nostrils flaring, Severus pushes himself to his feet. "Get out."

"That little? I'm sorry, Severus." And, since I am, I don't allow any of my pity to show in my voice.

Severus wavers, putting a hand out and grasping the back of his chair for support. It's clear he's gone far too long without proper sustenance. Quite probably as many weeks as Potter and his friends have been back at Hogwarts.

When he doesn't say anything further, I snap my fingers and call out, "Zelly."

A pop sounds and the house-elf is here, radiating disapproval of her surroundings. "Mistress."

"Pack up Mr Snape's belongings and have them moved to the rooms that were set up for him this morning."

"Yes, Mistress." Zelly's respectful bow relieves me of one concern over this strategy. The house-elves will support me.

"What? No," Severus protests, but it's too late. Two more elves have arrived, and his books are flying off the shelves and into boxes.

I take Severus's elbow. "You cannot stay here. Lucius needs you."

And with those words, his objections disappear, and he allows me to Side-Along Apparate him through the Manor wards into his suite.

o0oOo0o

"You've placed Severus in the Lady Suite," Lucius comments that afternoon as he joins me in my drawing room.

I pour his tea and levitate his cup and a plate of his favourite tarts over to him.

"You refused to change rooms after Mother passed away, and I moved to the Châtelain Suite."

"It wasn't appropriate." I sip from my tea, hiding my hesitation beneath the action. There's no possible way for me to explain the ways that Malfoy Manor communicates with the lady of the household. That information is privileged and can only be shared with my successor. Perhaps if Lucius's parents hadn't loved each other, he would have understood that there are the rules surrounding the suite attached to his own.

"And this is?"

"Is it not?"

"Perhaps." The muscles around Lucius's eyes relax, telling me that he's communing with the Manor, verifying the answer to my question. A second or two later, he says, "Severus will not be down for tea. He'll join us for breakfast tomorrow."

Allowing a smile to curve my lips, I relax into my chair and begin telling him about my morning and the state in which I found Severus. My tale has the desired effect upon Lucius. He stays only long enough to finish two tarts and one cup of tea before making his excuses and going to check on Severus.

o0oOo0o

Lucius and Severus are idiots enough to dance around each other for the next few weeks. They touch; more than is perhaps appropriate between friends. They talk, they play billiards, they ride the Aethonan and Granian winged horses in the stables, they transform the old cellars into a Potions lab, they talk and talk and talk, and then they talk further.

Men. Honestly, I cannot imagine how they accomplish anything.

By the time Draco sends an Owl notifying us that he's planning to go skiing in Switzerland with Potter and his friends over the winter holidays, even the house-elves have had enough. They've taken to glaring at me, refusing to do anything above the minimum required to keep the Manor running, and forever serving my food either too hot or too cold.

"Cissy!" Lucius has obviously been trying to attract my attention for some time.

"What?" I say, a little sharper than I intended.

There's a clatter of cutlery on wood from the seat across from mine, where Severus is sitting. "Perhaps it would be better if I—"

"No," I cut him off before he can, yet again, suggest that he should leave so Lucius and I can be alone. "My apologies. I have a mild headache."

"I could get you a pain potion," Severus offers.

Lucius reaches out and lays his hand on Severus's forearm. "Stay. The house-elves can do that."

A snap of his fingers brings Neppy, who obediently retrieves a phial and delivers it to me with a bare incline of his head and a meaningful glare. "Mistress is needing potions, so Mistress can be doing her job _properly_."

"The turbot was unacceptable. Dispose of it and serve the pudding."

"As you is wishing, Mistress." The remnants of our luncheon disappear with the impertinent creature.

The elves take their sweet time serving the raspberry syllabub trifle. As I mull over several possibilities for conversation, Lucius begins drumming his fingers on the table and Severus digs out a quill and parchment from somewhere and adds an annoying scratching noise to the din.

I'm about ready to hex the pair of them when Zelly pops into the room, bearing an envelope on a silver salver. "For the Master," she announces and presents it to him.

The letter is emblazoned with the Ministry of Magic seal. Hope rises in me as Severus and I watch Lucius open the letter and read its contents. Until Lucius pushes back from the table and mutters, "I cannot!"

He crumples the letter into a ball, sets it on fire with a snarled " _Incendio_ " and stalks out of the room.

" _Exstinguo_." I put out the fire with a swish of my wand and Summon the parchment. It's somewhat charred but sufficiently readable for me to understand what upset Lucius so much.

An invitation to join Minister Shacklebolt's Post-War Recovery and Reconciliation Committee.

Morgana curse the man. Does he not care what this could mean, not just for him but for our family? I'll be damned if I let him throw it away.

"Narcissa?" Severus says, catching my attention. "What is it?"

"This." I thrust the letter at him. Whilst he reads it, I get to my feet and move around the table to stand next to him. "Do you understand now?"

"He's turning this down?"

"Yes."

"Idiot." Severus flattens out the letter on the table. "You'll fix this."

"Me? Surely you're not that oblivious?" I seize his wrist and force him to turn around and face me.

We're staring into each other's eyes, shields slammed down to prevent Legilimency. We've held hands before. The memory flashes into my mind, an image of a glowing chain of spell-fire wrapping around our hands. His expression is blank, unreadable, and I know he's remembering the same moment.

I'm not that desperate yet. So, I wait for him to speak, readying myself to argue with him, to fight and to win.

Finally, he asks, "Why am I here, Narcissa?"

There are at least a hundred possible answers to that question. I consider all of them and then do the unthinkable. I tell him the truth, plain and unvarnished. "Lucius needs you."

"Your marriage?"

"Will remain intact. However, you may continue to reside in the Lady Suite." I watch his face, but see no sign of comprehension. Suppressing a sigh, I explain as much as I can. "The Lady Suite connects to Lucius's rooms. It is reserved for the... witch or wizard who lo... who provides a certain kind of emotional support and comfort to the Master of the Manor."

"You've never stayed in those rooms."

"I have my place in Lucius's life. Do not fool yourself into believing you can take it from me."

His response is a short, sharp nod.

I release him and watch him leave. His robes billow around his ankles. His hair is as clean as it ever gets and sweeps across his shoulders as he walks.

After giving him long enough to reach the stairs, I head for my own rooms. I don't understand, have never understood, what Lucius sees in Severus Snape. But if Severus can return my husband — my best friend — to me, I will permit him to remain in the Lady Suite.

First, however, I must ensure that Severus provides Lucius with the care that he requires.

o0oOo0o

" _Aspicio Dominus_."

Silver spell-light flies from my wand and washes over the ornate, wall-sized mirror in my dressing room. The mirror clouds over. When it clears, I have a perfect view of Lucius's bedroom.

I make myself comfortable on the chaise longue and snap my fingers. Almost instantly, Zelly responds and a table appears beside me. She pours a flute of elfmade champagne and hands it to me with what passes for a smile among house-elves. I smile back at her and gesture to the cushioned stool at the foot of my chaise. When she's settled in, I return my attention to the mirror.

o0oOo0o

"Go away, Severus. I'm too tired for this." Lucius points at the door and walks over to his bed. He strips off his robes and other clothing, and tosses them in the direction of his hamper. They vanish in mid-air. Wearing nothing but his silk boxers, he turns and glares at Severus. With his arms crossed over his chest and his legs about shoulder-width apart, Lucius is one of the few men I've met who is capable of being intimidating while naked.

"It's barely two o'clock in the afternoon. You cannot possibly be that tired."

"If you can't find the way out, call a house-elf to help you." Lucius pantomimes a wide yawn, patting a hand over his mouth. "I am going to nap."

Moving to the window alcove, Severus sits in one of the chairs and crosses his legs. "We need to talk."

"Then return at a time when I am accepting visitors."

"I think not."

"Must I give you another lesson in manners?"

"I think we're both far beyond that," Severus says. Then, when Lucius doesn't move, he adds, "Do sit down, and stop pretending that I'm going to leave."

Lucius makes that face, the one that means he's going to give in, and grumbles, "You're quite as bad as Narcissa."

As he stalks over to the other chair, I can't help but admire the way his muscles move when he walks; the gleam in Severus's dark eyes tells me that he's equally entranced by Lucius's body. Then Lucius sits down, his feet flat on the floor, legs apart, hands resting on the arms of the chair, and I can hear Severus catch his breath.

After a few moments of silence, Severus says, his voice oddly soft in a way I've never heard before, "You're in trouble, Lucius."

"I have my fortune, my family, a verdict of Not Proven, and an offer of a position in the new Ministry. That's hardly the dictionary definition of trouble."

"Do you wish me to be blunt?" Severus leans forward, a predatory expression on his face. "Shall I say the words that need saying? Drag your secret fears out of the shadows and into the light? Is that what you want, Lucius?"

" _No!_ "

"Then tell me."

"No," Lucius repeats, rising to his feet and moving over to the window.

Severus gets up and goes to stand behind him. They are murmuring to each other, their whispers too low for me to decipher. Occasionally, I can hear individual words: _Narcissa_ and _Draco_ , _useless_ and _Mordred-cursed_ and _waste of magic_.

The downward curve of Lucius's mouth, the balling of his fists, the way he tilts his head; they frighten me, leave me worrying and wondering whether I should send the house-elves on a search for a phial of dragon pox virus. As Mistress of the Manor, I learnt long ago why so many Malfoy males die of that disease. Unlike my deceased mother-in-law, I will not sit idly by and allow my husband to infect himself and refuse lifesaving care from a Healer.

But then Severus does what I cannot. He reaches out, and they embrace. Severus continues talking, stroking Lucius's hair. Lucius relaxes, and I can breathe again.

They remain that way for several minutes before drawing apart. The kiss Lucius gives Severus is gentle enough to send a shiver down my spine.

A few minutes later, Lucius is wearing his favourite dressing gown, and they're sitting down. There's a chessboard on the table between them, along with a bottle of brandy and two glasses.

They've once again left me frustrated, but I'm starting to believe this will work.

o0oOo0o

Two months later, I know that my plan is working. Lucius has accepted the Ministry invitation, and I keep encountering them in odd places around the Manor. Tonight, as I return to my room after one of Fenella Parkinson's deadly dull salons, they're indulging themselves in the hallway that leads to our rooms.

"Yes, _there_." The words come from Lucius's mouth, but the groan is not one I've ever heard from him. He's standing in the hallway, a little closer to their rooms than mine, legs spread apart, splayed against the wall. One hand clutches at a sconce above his head. The other is wound in Severus's hair. His robes are hanging off his shoulders. His prick is buried in Severus's mouth.

Severus is on his knees with his robes pooled on the floor around him. He's fisting his own prick and making the most delicious slurping noises around Lucius's prick. His head bobs up and down, occasionally drawing all the way off and flicking out his tongue in a way that sends a shudder through Lucius. His other hand is buried in Lucius's arse, twisting and thrusting in and out.

They never take their eyes off each other.

I wrap myself in shadows and watch them. My knickers are soaking wet, and it's all I can do not to open my robes and masturbate when Lucius cradles Severus's head in his hands and starts fucking his mouth.

Oh Circe, the sounds they make as they come.

o0oOo0o

Spring brings rain, the beginnings of buds on winter-bare trees and shrubs, and a letter from Draco asking if he can bring friends home for some or all of their two-week holiday. I will say yes, but I cannot do that without first telling him about the two men outside.

The Lady garden is walled, warded, and magically warmed. It's also right outside my drawing room. I can see Severus and Lucius through the French doors from my desk. They're sitting on one of the benches, talking. Lucius has his head in Severus's lap. Severus's hair is falling around his face.

Lucius has dropped his masks; something he rarely does, even amongst family. His expression is intent and almost gentle, and his hands move as he talks. I haven't seen him this way in far too long. It's wonderful to have him back.

He says something and reaches up to tuck Severus's hair behind his ear, exposing his face. The brush of his knuckles across Severus's cheekbone and over his lips makes my heart ache.

Mouth quirking into a half-smile, Severus nods and strokes Lucius's hair. He's agreed to do something, and it makes Lucius happy. Joy is clear in the crinkle of skin around Lucius's eyes and the tilt of his head.

As they kiss, I set aside my letter. I'm glad that I was able to bring happiness back into my husband's — my best friend's — life, but the ache inside me has grown and I cannot watch them any longer.

"Narcissa," Lucius calls my name.

I turn around. He's standing in the now-open French doors. A smile graces his face.

"Come," he says, "Join us. Liliane's roses are starting to bloom."

Summoning a smile of my own, I force the ache back where it belongs and walk towards him. I take his hand and we step outside, to where Severus waits.

o0oOo0o

I was young and foolish once. I believed everything my parents taught me: that my place was to obey, rather than to think or to disagree; that family honour was paramount, surpassing even the needs of individual family members; that preserving our way of life trumped the needs of others; that Voldemort was a pureblood who would defeat his enemies.

I was wrong. I know better now.

~fin~


End file.
